This is the scariest Creepypasta ever discovered on the deepweb, officially, certified 100 percent horrible by Lucifer The Devil himself. It’s rumored place of origin is somewhere in Texas, written on human baby flesh with the blood of Nazis, inspired by the real-life actions of Joseph Kony, Stahlin, Hitler, and Paris Hilton combined.

This version is completely uncensored, including all the original molestation, animal cruelty, and feminism. This is your LAST FUCKING WARNING!

Hello, my name is Skrillex—I mean, Damien. Before you read the rest of this horrible, ungodly tale, make sure you are alone. Make sure the lights are out. Make sure there is no other sound. Make sure you are wearing a diaper. Make sure your nipples are duct taped down and you have a condom on. Make sure you have a muzzle on—so no one can hear you scream. Make sure your hands are tied behind your back with a rope, so you don’t try to jump out the window. Make sure there are no lethal weapons nearby, so you don’t commit suicide. Make sure you have a cup of water in case you get thirsty, and we will begin.

I was working at Nickelodeon studios as an intern in the golden years of Spongebob, before the theatrical movie was made and the series went to shit. I mainly just delivered Stephen Hillenburg’s coffee, but the job did have some perks—like Assassin. Assassin was overpowered, and I could never get Extreme Conditioning, Recon or Sitrep to Pro six, but anyways the BEST perk, was, of course, watching the brand new, unedited Spongebob episodes.

One dark and stormy day, I was called in to see a strange episode that had been found in the archives but never officially finished. Me and two other people—Stephanie, and Bob—poor, poor Bob—entered the viewing room and I asked, “What the fuck is this one about?”

Bob, godforsaken, sad, noticeably handsome but not in a gay way Bob, said, “We have no idea. It’s actually a VHS somehow. I know that doesn’t make sense because we’ve never recorded Spongebob on VHS, but we found this. It’s labeled: “Episode 777: creepybob.wmv.”

I replied, “Well that’s fucking retarded. Let’s watch the motherfucking thing already.” I know, I had a sailor’s mouth. What can I say, I was 19 at the time. SUDDENLY the door to the room slammed shut and locked itself mysteriously, and the tape began playing by itself. “What the--? Is this some kind of prank?” How little did we all know.

Bob sipped his coffee, and replied, “I don’t know. I guess we’ll just have to watch this thing, right? I mean, how bad can it be? It’s friggin’ Spongebob.” That right there must have been the ironic foreshadowing. It’s just Spongebob, right? No. This was so much more than that. But you will learn for yourself soon enough.

For some reason, the theme song didn’t play. It just skipped right to a creepy title card—instead of the usual fun, blocky font it showed the words “creepybob.wmv”—all lowercase and in a gothic font against a blood-red background. Then, instead of the usual happy bubble transition, it melted away like a kitten’s face would melt if it were splashed with hydrochloric acid.

It was already too much for Bob. He screamed, “I CAN’T TAKE IT!!!” and shot himself in the face. You would think someone outside would have heard the gunshot and the splatter of meat and bones back against the wall and come in to see what the hell was going on, but no, now it was down to me and Stephanie. Stephanie was shivering as if she had the flu, and then she vomited all over her own lap and started crying. Pieces of the donut she had eaten earlier were mixed in with the slimy gunk that had been projected out of the mouth that, up until then I would have wanted wrapped around my penis. Stephanie was pretty attractive.

Strangely, I wasn’t fazed by the haunting imagery. I actually chuckled. Something about it was empowering me, vindicating me, liberating me…I had no time to question my sanity. My erection would soon triple in size when I witnessed the first true scene of this lost episode. It was like it was calling out to my very soul….

It showed Spongebob with a spatula outside Squidward’s house shouting, “Ready for work Squidward?” with a big goofy smile on his yellow, porous face. Goddamn I hated that smile. Nobody deserved that kind of happiness. It made rage build inside me. It made me wish I WAS Spongebob. Maybe I was. Then the episode took a sharp turn for the worse. Spongebob’s voice turned deep and demonic, like G major in Sony Vegas. “I said are you ready for fucking work, Squidward!” I smiled. Yes! This was the Spongebob I had always secretly fantasized about. An angry, conflicted, possibly confused Spongebob.

Stephanie vomited again and began beating her head against the wall, her tears becoming mixed with blood. I didn’t care that we were trapped anymore. I cheered this new, profane Spongebob on. “Go, Spongebob! Do what you’ve always dreamt of! Show us the power and freedom of cartoons that doesn’t exist in real life!” I swear Spongebob winked at me briefly. I jumped out of my seat and began jerking off furiously.

Squidward finally opened the door, and Spongebob lunged at him and snapped his neck swiftly yet brutally, with a sickening, blood-curdling CRACK that seemed to echo throughout the room I was in, as if we had HD surround sound. I laughed out loud. What was happening to me? Perhaps I was the chosen one…I would soon find out.

Spongebob dragged Squidward’s limp, dead corpse into his pineapple home and layed him down on a table in his living room. Strange. I never remembered that table being there in the regular show. I was jerking so hard that I was sweating bullets now. My casual T-shirt was matted to my skinny back in stinking perspiration, but I didn’t care. This was glorious. This was a sexual experience unlike any other. I never expected sex and violence to mix for me, but now I realized why I had found it so hard to arouse myself recently. I had tried every fucked up type of porn the internet had to offer—scat, loli, guro, yiff, feet—and more. But this was it. This was that magical video that fulfilled all my deepest, hidden sexual desires—hidden even to myself, apparently. I wasn’t ashamed. I tightened my hand’s grip around my iron hard, meaty cock and tugged like it was the cork in a wine bottle. Then I started fingering my asshole. I don’t know why, something just came over me. This pleasure was better than any video game I had ever played, any music I had ever heard.

Stephanie looked at me in fear and disgust. I didn’t care. It was like I was becoming a different person. Who was I? I felt incredibly, wonderfully filthy, perhaps like a serial killer bathing himself in the blood of his seven-year-old female victim who he had lacerated multiple times with a rusty, dull knife while listening to Mozart in a basement. Wait, what? I don’t even know. Oh, right, Spongebob. Spongebob’s next, even more evil actions would further fuel my lust.

Spongebob took out his trademark spatula, kissed it gently, rubbed it’s shiny steel, and then plunged it into Squidward’s thin neck. I screamed “YES!” as Spongebob began laughing hysterically, maniacally. I started jerking rhythmically along with Spongebob’s feverishly furious hacks at Squidward’s neck. Finally, Spongebob had successfully detached Squidward’s head and he pulled the decaying tongue out with one yellow hand, then pulled his square pants down revealing a hairy, veiny, flaccid penis. He rubbed Squidward’s rotting, dead tongue against his dick slowly, and started gasping and moaning. I gasped and moaned too. This was wonderful. What kind of awful demon had possessed me that day? Who the hell animated this crazy lunacy of a Spongebob episode? I didn’t care. All I cared about was that heavenly self-stimulation in my pants. And just when I was about to shoot my load.

Patrick knocked on Spongebob’s door. “Spongebob, are you home?” he said in his dumbass voice. Spongebob put down Squidward’s head, and took out a katana. He headed to the door and opened it. There was Patrick. Spongebob sliced open Patrick’s stomach, and reached into it. He yanked out Patrick’s intestines and wrapped them around Patrick’s neck before Patrick could react. Then he strangled Patrick to death, with his own intestines.

A new feeling arose in me. One of fury. My orgasm had been cut short. I turned away from the screen, and it seemed to pause for me. I said, “Stephanie.”

Stephanie huddled in the corner of the room. “Wha—what, Damien?”

“I want your pussy. Come here. Now.”

“No!”

“Get over here or I’ll shoot you like Bob shot himself!”

Stephanie clutched the silver cross she always wore around her neck and took a step towards me.

“WAIT!”

“WHAT?!?”

“I want you to crawl. Crawl like you’re my slave.”

“What is WRONG with you, you SICK FUCK!”

I picked up the gun and pointed it at her beautiful face. “Do it, you stupid cunt.”

She got on her knees, and crawled to me. Meanwhile, Spongebob was raping Sandy anally in the video. Yesss. This was perfect. I dropped my pants and underwear, and shoved Stephanie’s face into my sweaty crotch. She squealed like I pig being electrocuted. I said, “Suck it dry, bitch,” and pressed the gun against her lovely hair.

After Spongebob ejaculated in Sandy’s furry ass, he strangely let her go. Then he headed to his final destination, the Krusty Krab. Mr Krabs was waiting for him. “Spongebob! Yer late! What’s the problem. Is that…is that blood you’re covered in?”

Spongebob’s eyes were bloodshot. His teeth were gritted. He raised a rubber mallet, and struck Mr. Krabs thin arm, crushing the bone like a beetle. Mr. Krabs screamed. He tried to fight back, but couldn’t. Spongebob bashed away at him, and then the episode abruptly ended. The image just burned away. And then I realized the room was on fire.

I said, “Shit.” I pulled Stephanie’s mouth off my cock. “Where is your Christ now, Stephanie?” Before she could respond, I blew her brains out. The building’s fire alarm went off, and I pulled up my pants, angry that I had never been able to cum.

That’s all I remember. And now, here I am, sitting in a prison cell, writing this. Yep, they caught me. I suppose justice was served. But it was worth it. Just for those sweet few minutes of untold pleasure. Well, told to you, now. Why am I writing this? I don’t know. This isn’t really about Spongebob. It was about the sinful forces that overcame me that day. Maybe the whole tape was a mere hallucination. Maybe I had finally caved, sick of being a failed writer and delivering those goddamned coffees for Stephen. But that’s my story. Maybe they’ll never find this. Maybe